Case Number 12251

FIDO

The Charge

Good Dead are Hard to Find

Opening Statement

The '50s were so filled with fears -- fear of Communism, fear of nuclear
annihilation, fear of minorities; why not add zombies to the mix? After all, the
living dead have come to symbolize so much in our current cinematic zeitgeist
that allowing the undead to combine all the Eisenhower Era horrors into one
flesh-eating fiend seems like a pretty smart idea. It's a pretty funny one as
well. Conceived as a combination satire and scary film, Fido is a surreal
surprise, a genuinely touching tale of tolerance and totalitarianism reminiscent
of Bob Balaban's equally brilliant suburban frightmare of conformity,
Parents. Canadian filmmaker Andrew Currie has taken the standard
iconography of the era -- the freshly manicured lawns, the cocktail dress and
pearls housewives, the sleek Detroit automobiles -- and perverted them, ever so
slightly, into a commentary about race, relationships, and reality.

Facts of the Case

After a radioactive cloud blankets the Earth, the dead come back to life. The
government responds to the cannibal crisis by launching an all-out war. Things
do not go well at first. Thanks to the efforts of Dr. Hrothgar Geiger, however,
the zombies are contained and controlled. He comes up with the "head
wound" theory, and the collar that domesticates the creatures. Soon, all
suburban households have zombie servants, while the corpses do most of the
menial chores and jobs around town. Naturally, there are accidents, but the
corporate security forces of multinational ZomCom Industries keep everyone --
living and undead -- in check. When the Robinson family gets its first
rotting man-monster, it causes a split among the members. Dad (Dylan Baker,
Happiness) hates it. Mom (Carrie-Anne Moss, The Matrix) is
intrigued. And little Timmy? He names it Fido (Billy Connolly, The Last
Samurai) and adopts it as his "pet." Soon, the two are
inseparable.

The Evidence

At first, it's rather hard to see the parody present. Because of his
attention to period detail and desire to make his characters more than just
silly symbols, Currie stays subtle -- maybe even too much so. Even the
black-and-white "educational" film shown at the beginning of the movie
(a nice way to introduce us to this particular take on the zombie's origins)
feels too "real" to be overtly ridiculous. No, it takes a while before
the script starts slipping up, tossing in little baneful beauties about
"wild zones," protective barriers, and citizen
"re-education" procedures. By this time, we get the idea -- the gated
community with its internal security and demanding deed restrictions is the
ultimate example of "white flight" illustrated and acted upon. And the
reanimated corpses carousing around the perimeter? They're the undesirables
(racial or social) that the scrubbed Caucasian citizenry is desperate to
avoid.

Yet there is much more to Fido's narrative than "us vs.
them." There's a murder mystery thread running through all the stories,
hints at aberrant sexuality (thanks to an odd-duck neighbor -- O Brother
Where Art Thou's Tim Blake Nelson -- who treats his knock-out zombie servant
with just a tad too much friendliness), notions of growing marital unrest, and
the erratic beginnings of the freedom and liberation that would come to define
the revolutionary nature of the next decade. In between, we have the
Conservative Establishment trying to moderate the primal, uncontrollable
"counterculture," along with a fatalism that suggests the battle may
be already lost. Throughout, Currie paints pictures with a pulsing primary color
patina. Everything looks bright and shiny and crazily kitsch. It's only when we
see the rotting facades of the dead-eyed zombies that we recognize how phony
this entire world really is.

If one wanted to be cynical, they could argue that Currie is making a
comment about traditionalism -- and it's a criticism that cuts both ways. For
the Robinsons -- Bill (Baker), Helen (Moss) and son Timmy (the excellent K'Sun
Ray) -- a zombie represents status and standing. Helen even argues that they
need this one. After all, their neighbors already have six! Bill's reactions are
more distant. He has bad memories of the initial undead outbreak, and can't
stand being around this constant reminder. Like an episode of Lassie gone loopy,
Timmy decides that "Fido" would make a good friend. He benefits from
his ghoulish presence, but also learns how ill-prepared he is for the
responsibility. Still, they want to be part of the planned community, a place
that ZomCom runs with a slightly sinister set of kid gloves.

But the undead don't get off so easily. Because he casts them as maniacal
flesh-eating fiends, Currie can countermand the nuclear family with its own
parallel plight. The zombies are definitely supposed to be seen as the harsh
underbelly of humanity that we try to keep in check -- our unhinged hunger, our
predominant pituitary evil. When you think about it, it's a fairly potent
metaphor. It draws directly into the allegorical nature of the genre, and it
provides a portal for many of the movie's more intriguing ideas. The whole
whodunit angle, for example, is hinged on the fact that the undead are
"automatically" considered the criminals, and while cinematic
statistics bear this out, Fido suggests the protector may be more corrupt
than the provocateur. Additionally, this is perhaps the first film (after Scott
Phillips's fascinating Stink of Flesh) that actually broaches the subject
of sex. After all, if you can get a compliant corpse to do anything, like mow
the lawn or take out the trash...ummm...

Naturally, a great deal of the movie's success rests on the tone taken by
the actors. One wink at the audience too many, or a few too many tongues planted
openly in cheeks, and the whimsy wears off. Luckily, Currie rounded up a cast so
sensational that they occasionally feel like subjects in a deranged documentary,
not a group of fictional creations. It has to be said that Billy Connolly, the
mad Scottish comic, is lost inside Fido's fright-mask makeup, his
expressive eyes all that's left of his standard Glasgow façade. But his
performance is exceptional, always suggesting something more complex and
compelling behind his rigor mortis movements. Similarly, Carrie-Ann Moss makes
the frustrated '50s housefrau seem like the sluttiest soon-to-be bohemian in the
bridge club. Released from her Matrix-imposed S&M ambivalence, she's
down to earth and very endearing. Nelson certainly delivers on his naughty
nebbish demeanor, while Baker remains an actor unstuck in time. He can play both
contemporary and Cold War with unimaginable ease.

As for Currie, his lack of outlandishness may put off some macabre fans.
After all, he treats his zombie kills in an almost comic-book manner, offering
them on camera but blotted out by an amazing full moon or a park draped in deep
shadows. Still, his undead register real fear -- both to the characters and to
the audience. It's the concept of unpredictability that makes them so
suspicious. Fido himself seems to be capable of controls that his fellow
fiends can barely contain. Still, he happily feasts away when need be. Perhaps
the most compelling element of this fully realized film is its ending. Laced
with irony and some unsettling comeuppance, it sets the stage for the next
"evolution" in the human/zombie order -- and the inevitable question
of where society goes when intolerance no longer owns its purpose.

Finally finding its way onto DVD, the presentation of Fido on the
digital domain is a delight. Lionsgate leaves the film's original theatrical
ratio alone for once, giving fans a gorgeous 2.35:1 anamorphic widescreen wonder
to ponder. The image is postcard perfect, almost colorized in its aesthetic.
Hues hum like radioactive fallout and details are as crisp as hospital corners.
It's a sensational transfer. On the sound side of things, the Dolby Digital 5.1
audio mix is equally compelling. It uses the inherent atmosphere Currie created
to spread comedy laced dread across all the speakers. As for added content, we
are treated to a bevy of bonus features. There's a fun "making of," a
collection of deleted scenes with explanations from the director, a trailer, a
selection of storyboard, makeup and concept art galleries, and an intriguing
DVD-Rom "Zombie Creator" feature. The best extras however are a
full-length audio commentary from Currie, producer Mary Anne Waterhouse, and
actress Moss. It's a bright and bubbly affair, with all contributing insightful
stories about Fido's origins and working with Connolly. Score composer
Don MacDonald also shows up to talk about his efforts on selected scenes. It all
makes for a fascinating set of digital supplements.

Closing Statement

For all its grandiose implications and subtle social skewering, Fido
remains a wildly entertaining comedy. It has as much humor as horror, and a
wonderfully wonky way of making its many cogent social critiques. A few may
scoff at a deeper meaning, reducing Currie to a comic resorting to gimmickry to
produce his gags. Unlike Shaun of the Dead, this is not a movie macabre
homage. Nor is it a 28 Days/Weeks reinvention. No, Fido is
a wholly original take on a very familiar film foundation. Ever since DVD
destroyed the creepshow category, mainstream moviemakers have been looking for a
way to reclaim their rotting corpses. According to Fido, you'll never
beat them, and you really can't join them. Better to accept them and move on
with life. It's how you finally defeat fear once and for all.